


our ungentle sins

by Lizzen



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dark, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Post-Series, Prostitution, Psalm 23, Suicidal Thoughts, dirtybadwrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For so it is written: <i>how the mighty have fallen</i>. A son of the House of Benjamin fixates on a son of Jessie, daughter of Obed. And it will be his ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bofoddity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofoddity/gifts).



> All my love to the usual suspects.

*  
It’s been five years since Prince Jack's meteoric rise to the throne and his devastating fall to obscurity. Five years since the tanks came to Shiloh.

Under the protection of Premier Achish Shaw, David rules as the regional governor of Ziklag in Gath.

As God's anointed, Silas remains king of Gilboa. The House of Benjamin survives, for it always will, throughout eternity. The youngest son of Jacob was loved, after all, cherished and spoiled and treasured.

But such men can tear apart their legacy; and so it is written: _how the mighty have fallen_. For a son of the House of Benjamin fixates on a son of Jessie, daughter of Obed. And it will be his ruin.

*  
Thomasina is silent at his door, cold and watchful of him as ever.

Silas can see her machinations in the periphery of his vision, which he prefers to Rose’s subtlety. His wife, like a thief in the night, has left to collect Michelle. Their daughter has been too long absent. Separation may have turned her riotous heart further.

After all, like father, like daughter.

He can live without his queen. He will die, cold and alone and drained of blood if Thomasina leaves him.

It is his own twilight, he knows it, and he is angry. Unpredictable. Bad behavior is dangerous, he knows, but it is better to be feared than loved. And oh, how he is feared. The warrior king; he has slain thousands.

Today, he’s killed three men. One with his own hands and two more at his command. Thomasina has more uses than that of a soldier, or of an armor bearer, or of an aide de camp. She fired her weapon without question and her aim was true.

Tonight, his cup is full of wine and he’s watching the video again. _Governor_ David, so beautiful and pure, wearing his daughter's ring and speaking as a mouthpiece of heaven. Silas narrows his eyes, his finger poised over "play".

“It is the Lord that is _my_ shepherd," David says to the camera. "I shall not want.” He is earnest, like a little lost dog.

That’s what he is, Silas thinks. Lost. And little. He feels heat in his blood, and something inside his heart aches for a staff, something firm and true that he can hurl at that perfect face.

At that man after God's own heart.

A whisper at the door: “Will you watch it again, sir?"

“Yes, yes, I will.” He is petulant as a child sometimes, often, he knows. And the video is a dark spirit from God to torment him. And he will watch it until he can see it when he closes his eyes.

"And mercy shall follow me all the days of my life," David says. His eyes are cold and serious, his voice direct.

Silas knows, he knows that line is for him, and he tastes blood in his mouth from biting hard on his cheek. David has saved his life more than once, and he knows David will continue to save his life until Silas has no option left but to fall on his own sword.

"Sir." The voice at the door, as persistent as his soul, and he looks.

There is someone behind her.

As he recoils, Thomasina smiles, a strange sort of smile. The kind she made after she shot those men today. It’s a boy, no, a man at her side. Blond and brave faced; wearing David's military outfit, outdated and slightly ill fitting.

"Well," he says. "Who is this creature?”

Thomasina’s eyes brighten just for a moment. “This is David, sir.” She flicks her wrist and the man bows, low and formal.

Silas is no fool, his eyes narrow but he remains unmoved. Thomasina knows his vices; knows how to sweeten his temper with honey, with wine, with Helen. This is— this is new.

When the man, David, a brother in trade to Rahab, kneels in front of him, he grips the arms of the chair as if to steady himself.

He wonders if she will slit this man's throat in front of him, obscure the man's face and play the video and let Silas feel the warmth of blood on his hands as David's voice says that "I will fear no evil." There could be relief in that, there could be peace.

Thomasina sits on the arm of the chair, perched and still like a monument. She makes the tiniest of gestures to the supplicant and then—

Silas takes in a breath, his blood turned hot against his will. He wonders at the arrangement, a man on his knees. 

There’s no hesitation, no asking, no request, nothing. The man just reaches for Silas with all the silky ease of a harlot, but his face looks up at his king, a pure and innocent face. So perfect in features, and when he speaks ("my king"), it sends a shiver through Silas' very soul.

This is uncalled for. This is forbidden. 

Silas may have made God an enemy but there are rules. 

He looks sharply to Thomasina as his pants are neatly undone, his dick pulled out in the cool air of the evening.

"Tell me," she says softly. "That this isn't what you want. Tell me to bid him to leave, take the money and go. Tell me that you don't trust me."

Silas opens his mouth to let out a steady sigh as lips mouth at his dick, warm and supple and sweet, and his eyes flutter close for a moment.

The man (David, David, he thinks, David, he thinks with some feigned surety) slides a teasing tongue along the length of his shaft, and is gripping Silas' thighs wider and wider to improve the angle.

Her hand is at his shoulder pushing him just a little against the back of his chair. Keeping him there.

He looks at her, hard. "You're going to sit here through this," he sneers. "It's not like he needs coaching." Yet, overwhelmed, a traitorous sound emerges from his lips, an unkingly gasp.

“Sir,” she says and then leans close, with her mouth near the shell of his ear. He can feel her breath against his skin. "Tell me, sir, about God's mouthpiece, yes, and how sweet that mouth truly is."

David has Silas full in his mouth, full to burst, and is sucking down with a grace like Silas has never experienced. It’s a beautiful feeling, to feel this way, to lose yourself between someone’s lips.

He looks, he really looks, and it’s David, David sucking on his dick, David bringing him closer. Silas flinches; panic is not unknown to him but it is not a familiar friend. "This is wrong," he says, like a child. It would have been better had she slaughtered him, but—

She takes Silas' wrist, gently, and carefully presses his palm to David’s head, tangling his fingers in that short blond hair. "I need you to destroy God's creature." Her hand settles behind Silas’ hand and she pushes. "Ruin him."

The world spins, and he grabs her neck to keep still. David’s mouth is tight around him, sucking hard, making obscene noises. Thomasina’s hand pushes harder, and Silas’ dick reaches further into David’s mouth. Silas gasps as she fucks him with David’s mouth.

It doesn’t take long.

When he comes, he grunts and feels the world right itself at last. He breathes in the cool air, slowly through his nose, and stares up at the ceiling. Gives a smile to the enemy. 

The man wipes his mouth, looks pleased, shades of pride hidden in the mask of David. He slides down to sit on his feet, a proper kneel to a sovereign. 

"Out," Thomasina says, and the man, now no longer David, now just a pretty face, delicately leaves. 

She watches him go and Silas watches her, his hand still at her neck. "Don't kill him," he says. Sinner and peacock, it's hard for him to say the words. "You take care of me, you do."

She raises an eyebrow. 

His fingers, clutching at skin, touch metal, and he looks up at Thomasina's face. Curious and impulsive, he pulls at the chain around her neck. A necklace hidden behind her blouse; silver and beautifully made. 

There is a figure of a man, his arms outstretched; a charm hanging on the chain. He narrows his eyes, thinking the unthinkable and recognizes it—

It is the symbol of Ba’al, the heathen god of thunder and rain.

His mouth opens but he is unable to breathe quite yet. She is still as ice. 

At last: "I could hang you for this."

Her eyes dart to the door, and there is a smile in her eyes. “You could have me hanged for _that_.”

He watches her watch him.

“My duty is to protect the family,” she says; the words she always says.

“And _He_ protects you?”

She takes the symbol of Ba’al out of his fingers and sticks it back in her blouse. "Your God isn't the only one who speaks to His faithful."

Her face is imperious, and braver than he’s ever seen her, and he believes and he wonders. 

He is a self-proclaimed enemy of God, he is already damned in so many ways. "Don't go, he breathes. Her lips are thick and full and all he can smell is her good almond soap. Silas presses a kiss to her lips, light pressure and just the slight swipe of his tongue against her mouth. "Don't go," he whispers. 

She pulls away and her face is not exactly sad. “There are some lines,” she says, “Some lines that I do not cross, sir.” And she zips up his fly.

He could never deserve her in a thousand years.

“Be at peace, my king,” she says, and he feels her calm like an infection, soothing him. 

The bloody king of Gilboa may perhaps sleep well tonight and keep his temper tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all. The Old Testament is wack. What King David does with both sons named Mephibosheth (popular name in the House of Benjamin: 1. Seth from Kings; Saul’s bastard son; 2. Jonathan’s only surviving son) is horrible and amazing, respectively. FUTURE YULETIDE PROMPT ALERT. In conclusion: THE OLD TESTAMENT. DANG.

*

It’s been ten years since Prince Jack's meteoric rise to the throne and his devastating fall to obscurity. Ten years since the tanks came to Shiloh.

Two years since the horrible battle at the mountain of Gilboa and the death of many kings and sons of kings.

As God's anointed, David reigns as the king of Gilboa and his new capital, Jerusalem, is the shining jewel of the known world. The House of David has a destiny to endure and inspire, and his son and his son's son, and his son's son's son will bring about a new order.

But David is not the pure and innocent man he once was. A man who takes the place of God to the flock can never be without sin. And so it is written: _the sword will never depart from his house_. For the shattered House of Benjamin survives at the pleasure of a king, not by the will of God.

*  
Gehenna is a tomb. He would know, he’s walled up many behind locked doors when he was king.

His room is more austere, and he is more cautiously watched. Silas wishes to do himself harm. He's committed so many sins, broken so many covenants; why not commit a final act of violence? His keepers keep sharp objects away from him, anything that could be made into rope; watch that he doesn't intentionally choke on his food.

With so little else to entertain him, the game keeps his mind fresh.

"Silas."

He hears the voice and doesn't believe (his mind is not as keen as he thinks it is).

"Yea, though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death," Silas parrots to the phantom, and closes his eyes. He can recite the whole speech by heart.

The air in the room changes, and he feels a hand at his knee and he looks.

David kneels at his feet, wearing what must be the fashion these days, and looking up at him. His smile is all teeth; sharp and bright like a king.

Silas is not sure what he believes, having seen that face at his knee for years.

"You know," Silas says, "I kept Abbadon down here for years. Samuel told me to slay him. Told me it was God's commandment to kill the king, and every man, woman, and child, every dog and cat and horse they owned in Carmel. And I kept him."

David's smile falters, slightly.

"That was, perhaps, my first real sin."

"And now I keep you," David says.

Silas breathes in and it's flesh and blood that he smells, not a ghost. It hits him like a wave, and he feels the stirrings of life inside of him. David, he thinks. Oh David. "Oh," he says, thinking, and thinking, and remembering. "Oh, dear. The king is bored."

David doesn’t respond, looking up at him but not as a child does. There is nothing childlike in those eyes anymore.

"Well, then, your majesty. Tell me some news. I don't get any of the gossip down here." Silas prattles on to keep his blood cool. He wants, and he cannot have. "My trusted Thomasina is dead, I suppose." He has imagined so many horrible deaths David gave to her; the simplest being a single shot in between those lovely eyes.

"Thomasina? Vanished. Checked her sister out of the hospital too." David looks strangely fond. "I like to imagine them on an island somewhere, drinking mai tais served to them by beautiful women."

Silas thinks: she knows you died on the mountain, she knows the family is dead. That heathen god took care of her after all.

Years of solitary confinement, and he's suddenly crushed by a singular loneliness.

"I want to see my son," he says.

Both kings flinch at the word; David more than Silas.

"Seth is dead." David's face is white as he says it, drained of blood from truths unspoken. "And Phillip is at the best school in Gilboa. He has the best teachers, the best doctors. He is good. And you will never see him again."

Silas closes his eyes. Jack and Lucinda's son; his son and legal heir. The beautiful princeling who can never walk.

"Jonathan never saw him either, if that gives you any peace."

"Jack?"

David straightens and the ghost of something lingers on his face. "His name is Jonathan. The Jack you knew died in that room.”

Silas’ eyes open wider. He's seen that look in the young pup's expression long ago; that longing sadness. Unfitting on a king's face. He forgot how easy it was to read David, especially when it came to Silas' children.

He remembers Jack as a little boy looking up at him with a fearful respect that was very much like love. Though: not quite love.

Oh, how that boy must have looked at David.

And it's a strange sort of jealousy that bursts out in his heart. Before, David loved him, loved his king; that seductive warmth of true love. But it was his children who reaped the reward.

A laugh bubbles out from the cruelest part of his soul. "Oh, _David_. Did my Jack and Michelle tear you in half? How else could they _share_ you. Your beautiful face for Michelle and your cock dripping for that—"

His face stings like fire before he realizes that David has slapped him, hard.

"Jonathan was my brother, and my best friend. And on the mountain, he died for me."

Silas lets the words settle, lets the concept simmer in his mind. His daughter and his son, traitors, for those earnest eyes and foolish grin and endless font of true belief and God's love. Fitting punishment, he thinks, though he isn't sure for whom.

“Now that he—“ David stops himself and then continues. “Now, I am as damned and as dirty as you are. There are things I have done since. Things that are unforgivable.”

“You were always a boy scout.”

“Not anymore. Stand up.”

Silas takes orders now that he is a prisoner, but it burns every time. Imperiousness set on his face, he stands, towering over the Great King of Gilboa, the king of peace and love and honor. The king with a destiny and a blood dynasty that will live forever.

David remains on his knees, and it makes something soft in Silas' belly go sideways.

“Oh dear,” David says, mocking. “The king is bored.”

He fumbles with Silas’ simple drawstring pants, standard cotton briefs, and is suddenly—

Silas can’t breathe.

David gives him a look like he knows, really knows how much Silas wants this, has wanted this. And Silas has lost enough dignity to keep himself from faking a calm, casual enjoyment.

“Be silent.” It is David's most commanding voice, though quietly spoken. And Silas listens.

With one calloused hand holding his ankle firm, and the other against his thigh to keep Silas’ legs apart, David opens that famous mouth; lips that Silas had been fixated on for years.

It's horrible and amazing. David's not perfect, not perfectly talented, but he's no novice. And it's deep and wet and good and Silas can barely keep his hands away from helping him along.

David stops. “Do it,” he says, somewhat breathless. And Silas tangles his fingers in David’s hair, feels the length and softness of it. He only tugs lightly; he is a touch afraid if he’s being honest with himself. And Thomasina is not there to help things along.

Not that either of them really need help. They both so obviously know the drill.

Silas is thinking: My God, my God, why?

(David is thinking: You’re all I have left. All I have left of them.)

It's a sudden peak, an incredible moment of bliss, and Silas' eyes shut, wishing he could feel this way for longer. Coming in a man's mouth is a sin, a delicious soul shattering sin, and he loves every single moment of it. When it's over, when he's done, he hears David spitting loudly on the floor, coughing a little.

Longing overwhelms him, even greater than desire. Longing for God's love, for his children's love, for Helen to be near him again, for David to look at him again with such adoration.

He sinks to his knees, eye to eye at last with David. Silas takes David's face in his hands. "Just kill me. Son, my son, just kill me."

David leans in and it's a kingly kiss, chaste; they were never equals.

A whisper in the air: "Never." And who really knows who is speaking through David's mouth nowadays.

Silas falls back from kneeling, landing on his ass and feels his age, feels forsaken.

David smiles and helps Silas up and back into his clothes, and he is gentle and whispers like a silky lover. "A living death. Bricked up behind a wall with a person you love, with a person you cannot stand the sight of."

This is just, Silas thinks with a hollow ache in his heart. 

"Find peace, Silas Benjamin," David says, and Silas longs for it, longs for it more than anything he has ever touched.

(The proud king of Jerusalem will sleep well tonight, tangled in the sheets with his beautiful new queen. And his name will be carried as long as there is wind.)


End file.
